P.S. You're the Worst, page 1
P.S. You're the Worst
An Enemies to Lovers Romance
Jane Anthony
Jane Anthony Author
P.S. You're the Worst
Copyright © Jane Anthony 2023
All rights reserved
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without proper written permission from the author.
Editing by:
Candace Royer
Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies
Cover Design:
Kate Farlow, Y'all. That Graphic
Contents
Dedication
Playlist
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
Epilogue
P.S. Baby, You're Mine
Acknowledgments
Books by Jane Anthony
About The Author
Find Jane Online
For…
The man I devoted my entire life to. You're the fucking worst. I hope your balls shrivel up and fall off.
Playlist
Listen here
"Different for Girls" – Dierks Bentley/Elle King
"Black Sheep" – Dorothy
"Wicked Game" – Stone Sour
"Royals" – Lorde
"Undo It" – Carrie Underwood
"Gunpowder & Lead" – Miranda Lambert
"Mama's Broken Heart" – Miranda Lambert
"What Hurts the Most" - Rascal Flatts
"Till There's Nothing Left" – Cam
"Before He Cheats" – Carrie Underwood
"Redneck Woman" – Gretchen Wilson
"Numb" – Lincoln Park
"Here's to Us" – Halestorm/Slash
"Friends in Low Places" - Garth Brooks
"Crazy Bitch" – Buckcherry
"The Sex is Good" – Saving Abe
"Dirty Little Thing" - Adelitas Way
"Casual Sex" – My Darkest Days
"Fuck Away the Pain" – Divide the Day
"Dirty Little Girl" – Burn Halo
"White Trash Millionaire" – Black Stone Cherry
"Anymore" – Haley Hoffman Smith
"Smooth" – Florida Georgia Line
"Rewrite the Stars" – Zac Efron/Zendaya
"This is Me" – Kesha
"Bad Reputation" – Joan Jett & the Blackhearts
Chapter one
Darla
Rain pelts on the roof of our trailer in a rhythmic pattern. Unusually cold for Texas, I pull my robe tighter and cinch the thin satin with the sash, slamming my foot on the vent. A desperate puff of heat dribbles out. A death rattle.
“Fuckin’ piece of shit,” I grumble under my breath.
The kitchen connects my room to the living area. I step out slowly and reach for the kettle on the stove. Mom doesn’t bother to look up. Her fried hair is all you can see of her curling above the back of the lounge chair that separates the space between us. A burnt-out cigarette dangles from her spindly fingers. Believe it or not, she used to be almost pretty. Now she’s half a corpse staring at the television as my tea boils.
I hear the toilet flush seconds before the accordion door slams open. The hair on the back of my neck rises along with my shoulders as Ray shimmies past. His finger hooks on the edge of my robe. Luckily, I’m quick and grab the tie before he pulls it open. “This little thing is almost see-through,” he grumbles.
“Get the fuck away from me.” I elbow him off, and he stumbles back.
“Hey,” he snaps, his furry fingers taking hold of my bicep. The stink of booze wafts off his breath and permeates his ratty ribbed tank. He wrenches me closer as the lights go out.
A gurgled gasp escapes my mom as the three of us are drenched in darkness. “What happened?” As my eyes adjust, I see her stumble to stand and stagger toward us. “Didn’t I give you money to pay the bill?”
The sound of her voice loosens Ray’s hold. Just like the time he “accidentally” found himself in my room instead of hers. “I must’ve forgot.”
“Forgot? What’d you do with my money?” she slurs, pulling open the dead fridge. Glass bottles ting together. She takes the vodka from the shelf and thumbs open the cap. “Can’t even pay a fuckin’ bill. Lazy, good for nothin’—”
Ray’s open palm comes down on the back of her head. She lurches forward, catching herself on the counter. “Who you callin’ lazy, bitch?”
She lashes out and pounds on his thick chest. This is where it starts. They’ll brawl in the dark, and tomorrow I’ll go down to the electric company and pay the stupid bill to have the lights turned back on.
If I don’t get out of Hell’s Bend, I’m going to end up just like my mother—drunk and old before my time, with a piece-of-shit husband who offers nothing except leering eyes and a disgusting beer gut that hangs beneath his sweaty shirt. She threw her life away, and I’ll be damned if I follow in her vodka-soaked footsteps.
I flop on my bed and open Tinder on my phone. I’m starting a new job tomorrow. The responsible thing to do would be to stay in and rest, but I’m not in the mood to sit in the dark listening to them bicker all night. Maybe I can find a guy to offer a distraction from this hell on earth I call my life. Worst-case scenario, at least a free meal.
I swipe left on any guy posing with a fish or a deer carcass. I never understood why men do that. Do they think dead animals are some kind of weird aphrodisiac for women? Because I’ll tell you right now, I don’t need to know about it unless it's on my plate.
Left on Mr. I’m Standing Next To My Mom to Show How Sensitive I Am.
Left again on Mr. This Is a Close-Up Photo of My Junk in Sweats.
Left on Mr. Your Profile Pic Is Clearly Ten Years Old.
Left on Mr. I Don't Need a Guy with Nicer Eyebrows Than Mine.
I’m about ready to give up when I finally land on a worthy contender: Dylan, 23. Long blond hair and soulful eyes, he stares up at me with a lazy grin cocked on his handsome face. His profile doesn’t say much, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’m not much for talking anyway. He looks like a badass. I’ve always been a sucker for a tough guy. Someone who will keep me on my toes and fight for what he wants. That kind of broody arrogance makes my panties damp. I get off on the chase. What can I say? I’m a little fucked up.
I sweep my finger to the right and smile when the app tells me we’ve matched. A chat window opens instantly.
Dylan: Hi.
I bring my knees up and lean the phone against my thighs.
Me: Hi.
Dylan: How are you?
I hate these monotonous chats. I doubt this guy gives a shit how I am. Why bother asking? Get to the point and shut up. But I play it cool and respond like I have a little class.
Me: Fine, thanks. You?
Dylan: Alright. Can’t complain.
I roll my eyes. This guy has the conversational skills of my grandpa.
Dylan: What are you doing?
Me: Nothing. Sitting at home.
My stomach rumbles. I press my palm to my belly button to calm it down when his next reply comes in.
Dylan: Do you want to meet for a drink?
Me: Sure.
We exchange a few more messages and decide to meet at a bar over in White Tail Creek. The only bar in Hell’s Bend is The Great Notch Inn, and aside from the fact that I work there, my fake ID wouldn’t get past Cindy Wilder anyway. I grew up with her son since preschool. The aforementioned “tough guy” who used to rile me right the fuck up . . . until he took off with that fucking East Coast Barbie. But I digress. That’s one of the things I hate most about living here. Everyone knows everything. There are no secrets in a small town.
I get myself ready by candlelight, then steal Ray’s keys (my truck needs gas) and head out the door. I weave through frigid drops falling from the sky. My damp skirt sticks to my thighs in the dusty old cab of his Ford F150. I start it up and ease through the trailer park, swiping the condensation off the windshield with my palm before hitting the road.
Slater’s Mill is a little place off the beaten path. A converted barn that arcs up into the clouds and thumps with a thick bass I feel pounding in my chest as I go inside. I shake my hair out with my fingers, trying my best to rejuvenate my rain-wilted curls as I slide onto a barstool.
“What can I get ya?” The bartender meanders over and throws a coaster in front of me.
“Tequila.”
His heavy brows pull together. “You got ID?”
I roll my eyes, then dig through my bag to find my wallet. Butterflies swirl in my gut. I hand over the card, and he holds it out, squinting to see the tiny lettering in the dark. A few seconds later, he gives it back with a curt nod, then wanders off to make my drink.
“Darla?”
When I turn toward the sound of my name, my heart fucking stops dead. Long blond hair frames his steel jaw, his eyes piercing in the neon lights. A hard-core mix of silver and leather wrap his wrist as he extends his hand. “I’m Dylan.”
Fuck yes, you are.
“Hi.” I reel in the stupid grin splitting my face. He looks like a rock star with all ripped denim and long chains over his tight black tank. Usually, you meet a guy on Tinder and he looks nothing like his photo. Either they’re older than pictured or clearly photoshopped. But this guy went the other way. Photos don’t do him justice.
He nods his chin toward the glass as the bartender sets it on the coaster. “What are you drinkin’?”
“Tequila.”
He lifts a brow. “I’ll have the same,” he orders, waving his hand between us. “And start a tab.”
His tongue slides across his perfect, plump lips, and I find myself thanking a God I was starting to doubt existed before he showed up. He doesn’t even need to talk. I could look at him and fall deeper into lust the longer I sit here.
“So where’re you from?” he asks. I hate the usual first-date chitchat. Where’re you from? What’s your major? What do you do for fun? Blah, blah, blah. It’s all so benign and boring. I want to jump past all of that and get into the meat and potatoes of a person. Don’t tell me what you do for a living. Regale me with stories of the most embarrassing moments of your life. The nitty-gritty details that make a person who they are. I may bluster like a violent wind, but deep down, I’m looking for the same thing any other young person is looking for. A connection.
“Hell’s Bend.”
I almost see him scowl, but like a true gentleman, he holds it in. I don’t blame him. It’s a blight on this great state. A white-trash mecca where hope goes to die. No one leaves Hell’s Bend. It’s quicksand under our feet. The harder we run, the faster we sink.
Without breaking eye contact, I run my tongue across the back of my hand. With my skin still wet, I sprinkle it with salt before licking it again and slamming the shot. The initial sting burns my throat. I close my eyes to stave off the onset of tears, but the lime wedge gnashed between my teeth helps me recover quickly. This ain’t my first rodeo.
Dylan grins at my temporary distress. “Nicely done.”
“Thanks.” I giggle.
He throws his drink back as if it’s water, skipping the ritual.
“Impressive. Do you have other talents, or is drinking with a straight face all you’ve got in your bag of tricks?”
A laugh rumbles in his chest, dark and rich. “You’ll find out in due time.”
Heat pools in my gut. “Can’t wait.”
He gestures to the bartender to bring another round. “Let’s try it your way this time.” He brings my inner wrist to his mouth and suckles it between his lips. Teeth scrape against my sensitive skin, sending mini shock waves of excitement straight to my core. He salts the spot, then tongues it off in a sensual circle. “Mmm,” he says, tipping his head back to empty the glass, then reaches for the fruit.
“You keep doin’ shit like that, I’m not gonna make it home.”
His gaze darkens. “I'll take care of you. Don’t worry.”
My chest tightens. I like him already.
A beat of silence sits between us before he picks it back up. “These dates are the worst, aren’t they? I’ve never been great with small talk.”
“Me neither.”
“Can we skip all that and hang out like regular people?”
Did I say like? Scratch that. I think I’m in love. “Definitely.”
Easy conversation flows back and forth. We gravitate toward each other like magnets being pulled together. I’m not entirely sure if it’s the tequila or him, but I feel lighter than air. The weights that shackle me to the ground have broken open, and I’m legitimately happy for the first time since . . . God, I don't even know when.
A lineup of empty glasses and bitten limes litters the bar. Unfortunately, what goes in must come out. I slide off the barstool and stumble the minute my feet hit the floor. Dylan grabs my arm to steady me. “You all right?”
“I gotta pee.”
A crease forms between his brows. “You gonna make it?”
I peek up under my lashes. “You wanna come?”
“Yeah.” He searches the space for the bathroom signs, then takes my hand to lead the way.
“You’re so sweet,” I slur like an idiot. Rarely do I let my guard down this much. A girl’s gotta be careful who she chooses to sneak into hidden corners with, but something about him makes me feel safe.
And let’s face it, a little horny.
“You’re sweet, too.” He stops outside the ladies’ room door and tugs me against him before I can enter. I let out a gasp, but his lips are on mine before I have time to come up with a witty response.
The room spins as my eyes flutter closed. I allow his hard body to pin me to the wall. I’m dizzy. Drunk on the remnants of tequila on his tongue as it glides against mine in the dark alcove. The music thumps through my veins. I lose myself in his mouth and allow myself to be carried away at the moment as he leads us through the door. His groping hands explore my body, the mixed scents of citrus and spice driving me wild.
“You’re so hot,” he mumbles between kisses.
“So are you.”
We stagger into a stall and fumble for the lock. Before I realize it, I'm on my knees. Did I fall willingly, or did he push me down? But when I tilt my head back to question, the look on his face steals my breath. A halo of blond hair cascades around his beautiful face like an angel. He peers into my soul with a haunting stare that tethers me to the filthy floor at his feet.
“I want this,” he mumbles, undoing his belt.
With the pad of his thumb, he traces my lips. I suck it in, then let it out slowly, holding his gaze as he falls against the metal wall.
When he drops his fly, I notice a small tattoo near the base of his shaft. A permanent kiss on the outskirts of the shaved patch of hair. I press my mouth against it, then make a small trail to his thick erection before letting it slide against my tongue.
He groans. I pull him into my throat, milking his cock with my mouth and hands. The guttural sounds radiating in his chest make my pussy wet. There’s nothing else like it in the world. A concert of grunts competing with the busy bar outside the door, the idea that we can get caught any time makes this tryst hotter.
“That’s it, baby. Take it all the way.”
The alcohol numbs my gag reflex. I take him deeper, letting him tangle his fist in my hair as he finishes without warning. I swallow his cum and fall back on my haunches.
“You’re something special. You know that?” He tucks himself back into his pants and readjusts his belt. “Do your business. I’ll pay the tab, and we’ll get outta here.”
The second he’s gone, I relieve my bladder and wander back out to the bar, but there’s no sign of him anywhere. I move toward the door, but the bartender’s gruff voice stops my flight.
“Hey! You gonna pay this tab?”
I spin on my heel. “You mean the guy I was with didn’t pay for it?”
“He said he was closing it out, then split.”
Rocks tumble in my gut. “There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake, sweetheart. He came back, downed another top-shelf tequila, then walked out the door. Now, I don’t care who pays it, but I’m gettin’ my sixty-five bucks.”
“Sixty-fi—” I drop my head into my hands, staving off the nausea beginning to build. That son of a bitch. The taste of his cum still lingers on my tongue. I slam down my debit card and pull out my phone, then load the dating app to tell him what an asshole he is, but my blood boils me sober when I realize he blocked me.
That motherfucker.
“Thanks for the shitty tip,” the bartender snaps.
I turn and flip him the bird as I walk out the door. My instincts are usually better than this. I can spot a loser from a mile away, but this guy somehow flew under my radar. He played me for a sucker. Literally.
